


Ryujin

by Willdew



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Post-Boruto: Naruto the Movie, Post-Chapter 700, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-15 10:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5782339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willdew/pseuds/Willdew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the turn of his third decade, Mitsuki is forced to confront the fact that he'd really peaked at thirteen. It's all been downhill since then. Certainly, if he'd lived in the past, maybe things might have been different but in this age of peace, shinobi aren't needed, and there's no justification for breaking the rules.</p><p>Everyone sees him as a disappointment because they expect him to be like his... parent... but really, he's just an adequate lab technician. To top things off, his best friend is in the middle of divorcing <i>the Hokage</i> and won't leave his apartment, his other best friend <i>is said Hokage,</i> and his sort-of-girlfriend is breaking up with him to marry someone her clan can get behind -- someone without a history of insanity and treason lurking in his genetic makeup; someone who <i>wasn't</i> grown by a psychotic Missing Nin in a jar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> These characters belong to ah, Masashi Kishimoto and gosh, tons of corporations. No profit is made or intended to be made by this fan work.
> 
> Everything I write for this fandom is probably going to be terribly derivative of [HazelBeka](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelBeka/pseuds/HazelBeka) and [blackkat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat)'s works (not to mention everyone else I've commented on or bookmarked here on A03), so if I end up borrowing someone else's headcanon, I apologize in advance. I'll try and work from my own interpretation of canon but it's probably liberally influenced by the lot of you by this point. ^_^;

Grey light filtered in through the dirty windows. Outside, summer cicadas contracted their tymbals, vibrating the membraneous tissues on their stomachs and emitting a series of high-pitched shrieks meant to attract a female. Sporadically, the neighbourhood woodpecker reassumed its ongoing affair with a nearby telephone pole in fits and starts. 

Chouchou groaned. "I swear, if that thing don't shut up, someone's gonna hafta cut a bitch." 

Mitsuki pretended not to hear her, opting instead to nuzzle further into her armpit with his face, pulling her body close. Her skin was warm and soft, her flesh delicious and pliable beneath his hands, lips and tongue. He murmured nonsense over her spluttering, licking the inside of her arm. She smelled like sweet barbeque sauce and the strawberry body butter she used. Her hair was coconut-scented, and her antiperspirant contained artificial vanilla extract -- made from the scent-producing glands of certain family of aquatic rodents, if he wasn't mistaken.

He generally wasn't. 

"Get off, string bean. I gotta hit the can." 

Mitsuki flicked his tongue against her neck and retracted it, the chemicals hitting the sensory organ in the roof of his mouth and bringing with them a wash of information. He grinned evilly, pressing a flat palm against her pelvic area, putting pressure on her bladder. "Oh, really?" She would still be fertile for another five days and he could smell it, her arousal thick and cloying, the honeyed scent permeating the air in the small room. Did she realize how appetizing she was? How was the entire village not at his door, demanding a piece of this perfect specimen in front of him? But then again, taste was a difficult variable to account for with any measure of accuracy. He licked his lips. "Stay." He grinned, lips stretching further than possible for the average hominine, while the bones in his arm softened and bent to wind their way around her waist possessively.

He squeezed.

"Damn! You're gonna make me piss!" 

"Then do so."

Various abilities aside, Mitsuki's strength would always be exponentially weaker than hers; it was an easy matter for the young woman shove him off. "Kinky bastard." She lunged for the ensuite, dragging sweat-soaked bedsheets part of the way, kicking them off her as she went. A few moments later, Chouchou reemerged, still naked as the day she was born. "I'm gonna make breakfast. You like, want anything?"

 _Ah._ "I am afraid I haven't been to the shop recently," Mitsuki admitted. He hadn't been putting much effort into keeping the kitchen stocked as it seemed like a bit of a lost cause, not to mention a moneypit. Especially under the current circumstances. Genetic disposition toward housing a tailed beast and developing greater than average chakra reserves aside, while in the throes of his current funk, Mitsuki's best friend and roommate spelled certain devastation to anything edible that wasn't either poisonous or nailed down. (And even then, there had been a few close calls -- Mitsuki was now sure to toss anything that was either notably past its due date or that could be conceivably mistaken for food.) If anything, his old teammate's appetite had tripled, and it was useless trying to keep up. 

Chouchou cursed, stomping hard enough to shake the furniture in the room. Behind her, a few items tumbled, becoming lodged between his red-stained birch dresser and the wall. "You're, like, kidding me -- right? After last night, I'm fuckin' starving."

"Boruto's been binge-eating everything in the apartment," he shrugged. "Either way, it doesn't matter, does it? There is a fantastic crêpe shop a block away. Why don't I step out and bring us something back?" He tried to keep the hopeful edge from his voice. Perhaps she would not realize how desperate he was to keep her both in his bed and naked at all costs. 

He really only wanted one thing for breakfast.

The young woman placed her hands on her hips. "No dice. I'm on a special diet. No sweets for this girl." She turned a thumb toward her chest, eyes narrowing. "I'm dropping this extra weight, once and for all."

"That's preposterous," Mitsuki spluttered. Diet? She couldn't! He didn't even want to think about it. "Your bloodline limit requires the storage of calories in the form of additional adipose tissue. Dieting for you is dangerous, entirely contraindicated." Not to mention he _liked_ her the way she was. Besides which, "...you would never survive your transformation technique with less mass. You require a surplus; that's how your clan has evolved for a reason." Never mind the fact that the thought of her looking any other way was entirely... wrong. 

Nobody stirred a mating response in him in the way that Chouchou did. The reptile part of his brain wanted inside of her with alarming frequency, and his desire to pin the woman down (or, more accurately, goad her into trapping him in an entirely vulnerable supine position) occluded other, lesser objectives. Briefly his mind wandered; images flickered across his mind's eye with neither warning nor permission from his conscious mind. _Our children would be both expandable and stretchy._ He couldn't help himself -- his entire body tingled at the thought. 

"Yeah, well, Sarada's mom is my doctor, and she says it's _fine_ , so fuck you, I'm gonna get a healthy breakfast, whether you wanna come with me or not." 

Mitsuki grumbled, casting about for his pants. "Well then, Haruno-sama and I need to have a word."

"You're not the boss of me, don't you dare." 

She had a point, of course. They'd only been dating for half a year (if mind-blowing sex followed by breakfast and then not seeing one another for weeks at a time could be called dating). But that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to care about her. Even if it was a bit early yet. "For my own personal edification, then. From one medical professional to another, I would like to know why an esteemed personage such as Haruno Sakura, the renowned disciple of the Fifth Hokage herself, would give you such terrible--" 

A series of thumps interrupted him. "Hey, lovebirds... it's seven in the morning, don'cha know?" 

_Don't invite him._ Chouchou mouthed frantically. She'd been avoiding Boruto, and not without reason. She and Mitsuki had been technically forced to take different "sides" for the past few weeks, seeing as _her_ best friend and _his_ best friend were currently... not in a great place. Granted, Boruto and Sarada had been off-again, on-again throughout their youth, but things were a bit more serious now that the public eye was on them both, with each of their respective reputations on the line. 

Mitsuki rolled his eyes. This ruse needed to end. "Apologies Boruto, we are heading out soon. Would you like to come?"

There was a pause. "...oh. Are you sure it's fine?"

 _"Noooooooooo!"_ Chouchou waved her arms, whispering now. _"What are you doing!?"_

Mitsuki pulled the woman close enough to place a kiss against the side of her head, and place a hand over her mouth. It was fine for Chouchou to have her priorities, but Boruto was one of his, and they'd danced around this issue long enough. Spending time with people would be good for his roommate, and Chouchou could stand to be a bit more mature about the situation. He adored her to pieces, but at times he would remember why he'd mercilessly teased her back in their Academy days. She really was a bit black-and-white about things. "Yes, it's fine. Give us ten or so to get dressed."

"Cool." Retreating footsteps marked Boruto's departure from the hall. 

"You asshole!" Chouchou exploded after struggling free. "I have to avoid him! Listen, there's such a thing as solidarity between us girls!" 

"No, _you_ listen, it's just breakfast. And he is having a really miserable time. You realize he's still making appearances at functions and pretending everything is all right for the politicos and bigwigs at the Tower? So he pretty much sees Sara-chan every day." 

Chouchou said nothing, angrily fussing with the clasp on her bra. "Yeah, well, they had a deal. His career depends on hers, anyway."

"It's a choice they made early on," Mitsuki agreed. "And as much as it pains me sometimes, I have to support them both. Although I have to say, this time around, I can't help but think she's being unnecessarily harsh."

"Hey, you're really kinda in love with him, huh?" She narrowed her eyes. "Should I be jealous of your bromance?" 

Mitsuki scoffed, tossing her clothes at her. "Believe me, I've tried dating men before. And women. And people in-between." 

"Uh... what?"

He pulled her into another embrace. "And none of them," he flicked his tongue in her ear, "...got me half as excited --" he nipped at her neck, " -- as you." 

Chouchou shed his hold, sending him spinning in a lazy arc away from her and toward the floor. "Save the meterosexual hipster crap for someone who gives a damn about that stuff and get dressed already." She set her mouth in a thin line. "I needta get some egg whites and fruit into me, or so help me...."

"Allow me to guess. Does it involve bitches and also the cutting thereof?"

"Uh huh." Chouchou reached into her pocket and withdrew a hair elastic. Mitsuki's heart leapt a little as she lifted her arms above her head, flexing her biceps as she twisted her hair into a fashionable bun. The copper-coloured protein filaments glinted in the early morning light, straining against their confines in a manner that only seemed to emphasize her indomitable spirit. "You're paying, toothpick."

* * *

Boruto watched as Mitsuki left to pick up his order. "So you two have been seeing each other for a while. I think now's about the time I should ask you about your intentions. He is my pretty pink princess, don'cha know?" 

"Uhh... all right? Your buddy's cool, I guess, but sorta clingy." Chouchou put her health shake down and frowned. "Also... sorta bossy sometimes? I hafta be like, 'bitch, this is _my_ life, _my_ rules' or else he gets all... I dunno, interfering and stuff." 

"And what about your clan? What do they think about the two of you?"

"Dude, are you being serious? We're not like... I dunno... I guess it's fine...." Chouchou muttered before trailing off, looking thoughtful. And then: "I guess if he proposed or something, my dad and his friends would have to have one of their gay meetings, and maybe ask the council for their like, official opinion? But that stuff's so outdated, it's sorta... kinda... pretty much a joke, really." She shrugged. "I mean, he's got a steady job. And sure he's creepy sometimes, but he's not like, a civilian or anything."

"Number 33! Eggwhite omelette and miso soup!" 

_"Finally,"_ Chouchou huffed, departing just as Mitsuki got back with his mochi waffles and green tea. He turned to watch her bottom appreciatively as she made her way across the food court.

"Dude," Boruto snorted. "You've got it bad, don'cha know?" 

"Perhaps." Mitsuki admitted. "It is normal for a man my age, after all. Scientifically speaking, we are both at our sexual peak." 

"All right... glossing over whatever _that's_ supposed to mean--" 

"Testosterone peaks at age eighteen in men, whereas a woman's estrogen reaches optimal levels--" 

"Oh, wow. Stop. And man, it's not like I'm not happy for you, because I am, especially if she can put up with _all this_...." Boruto gestured at Mitsuki's cranial region, as if that were supposed to indicate something. "But Chouchou, she's not exactly," he winced as the girl started up an altercation with the server, grilling him loudly about the amount of dairy or gluten in her meal. "In fact, me and Sarada were pretty sure you weren't into sex at all, for a while. So for you to be into her of all people and now... I guess what I want to say is, maybe slow things down? We always pictured you with some kinda science-y girl instead, don'cha know? Or...." He hesitated, then forged ahead, bolstered by caffeine, perhaps. "...not a girl, even?" 

Mitsuki sighed, his lips quirking upward as he stabbed blindly at his waffle, eyes still trained on the object of his affections. "Chouchou is a direct _woman_ with a pure heart. There is that saying that opposites attract, which I would have dismissed until now, but that doesn't really matter, does it? She's been good friend to our Sara-chan, and in time, perhaps--" 

Boruto made a face. "Man, stop. You forget who your parent is? And good as Chouchou has been for helping Sarada through... stuff... that doesn't change the fact that she's the least queer-friendly, least open-minded person I have ever met." He sipped his coffee. "Never mind what her clan will say if they find out. You'll be lucky to keep your head, don'cha know? I asked her what her parents would say and she said it was fine because you weren't a _civilian_. She's got no idea, does she? That's really shitty of you."

The conversation with the server at the HEALTHY BREAKFAST stand continued. It appeared that the manager was now in the fray. Chouchou appeared to be requesting some kind of refund; Mitsuki gave her an encouraging thumbs-up before looking down and frowning at his plate. He stabbed at a clump of waffle. 

He loved his parent, and they had always gotten along perfectly well. He knew there were some hard feelings between Orochimaru and the old guard among Konoha's administration, but many of those people were on their way to retiring, and as far as he understood, a number of those bridges had been mended. He'd also taught Sara-chan's father, and fought in both the third and fourth shinobi wars for Konoha, as well. Certainly that counted for something? Still, for the first time he could remember, a small nugget of worry embedded itself in his gut. What if his relationship with the woman he loved was doomed because of who he was? 

No; that was silly. People weren't their parents, everyone knew that. He'd thought such things as a child, and certainly genetics were important, but look at Boruto, deciding against being Hokage despite his direct lineage from both the fourth and seventh. And look at Sarada, the first Uchiha candidate for Hokage, despite her clan's reputation for being both violent and cursed. And Sarada's mother, the heir to Tsunade's Senju techniques, despite being of entirely civilian blood. This was the future, after all. Heritage was important, surely, but any rational person could see there was no sense in being superstitious about it.

"Earth to Mitsuki. Are you even listening?" 

"Yes. But you're just deflecting," he stated finally. "Come on now, when she gets back, we're talking about you -- specifically, how we're going to patch things up between you and Sara-chan."


	2. Promises Are Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Boruto and Sarada work a few things out. Meanwhile, Mitsuki encounters a little more trouble than he'd signed up for while working on the early stages of Sarada's campaign.

Boruto moaned, rolling off of the couch. He had an interview in a couple of hours and Mitsuki was already calling, leaving him message after message. He grabbed his phone and threw it into the laundry hamper he'd left in the hall; stuck a couch cushion over his head. 

He would go, of course. He was going to go. It was just that it was so _exhausting_ and they'd only just begun.

 _Why can't they see that I hate this kinda stuff?_ He thought morosely. _Being interviewed once in a while is okay, but doing back-to-back appearances all the time like it's a job and answering the same questions over and over again is just so uncool._

Two weeks ago, his engagement to Sarada was officially announced. In this day and age they were considered pretty young to be making this level of commitment, so the betrothal would last two years, and they would wed at twenty.

The media ate the story up.

The next thing Boruto knew, Mitsuki was appointed his "manager" and set to the task of helping Boruto in and out of hakama jackets and formal kimonos and ushering him to networking meetings and interviews. He was also doing the same for Sarada, but getting her image out into the public was proving to be a bit more work. 

And there was the trouble.

The three of them were striving toward a goal, a promise they'd made shortly after they'd first taken the chūnin exams. Together, they would do whatever it took to make sure Sarada reached the position of Hokage, no matter what. Boruto would protect her from the shadows and to that end was currently working on getting admitted to ANBU, while Mitsuki would hone his medical skills to back them both up in any way he could. It was their plan. And the joining of the Uchiha and Uzumaki clans, and their combined endorsement of Sarada's candidacy, was part of that plan.

And with Konohamaru-sensei gone, it was even more urgent, because they had to do it for him, too. Being Hokage after Naruto was his dream, so now Sarada had to fill his shoes also, and aim to take the position on much sooner than she was initially planning for. 

But people were put off by Sarada's seriousness, her harsh facial expressions, and sharp tongue. The focus groups Shikamaru set up for them called the youngest Uchiha "severe" and said that she "made them fear for their lives." It was an excellent thing in a shinobi, but not necessarily the best for winning over a generation fostered on the myth of their beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed Lord Seventh with his blinding smile and cute whiskers; the man everyone knew had a great, big, protective-and-vaguely-anthropomorphically-grouchy fuzzy fox living inside of him, and who ready and willing to fight for, die for, bump fists with, and hug _everyone_ at the drop of a hat.

It was to be expected, Boruto's father's advisor explained to them, although they could tell by the way he rubbed at his temples that he was irritated by the results as well. From a certain age upward, the citizens of Konoha were raised on tales of the Seventh's heroics and the rescue of his best friend, of the Hyuuga princess, and of the entire shinobi world from the clutches of that wicked tag team, Uchiha Obito and Uchiha Madara. Stuffed foxes adorned every child's bedroom and bijuu baby mobiles hung above every crib. The Uchiha, in the meantime, provided the cultural template for most villains in modern media -- comic books, cartoons, television programs, and films were all filled with dark-haired, red-eyed elite shinobi with tan complexions and upper-class accents.

What's more, every child of the Five Nations born after the Fourth Shinobi War learned the jinchūriki song before they could even walk. To the modern citizen of the Hidden Leaf -- again, this knowledge came from the focus groups -- the sight of the whiskers on Boruto's face produced a strange, calming effect and no small amount of fondness. Some respondents even reported an autonomous sensory meridian response to hearing the sound of Naruto or Boruto's voice. Everyone looked on the young Uzumaki as a demi-god instead of a teenager with less than spectacular judgment who was terribly insecure, relied on others to do the thinking for him much of the time, and swore up and down he would never, ever, wear The Hat.

  


_"Wow, imagine that!" Mitsuki had commented gleefully, skimming over the results. "I guess it's not just you who feels tingly all over when looking at Boruto, hey, Sarada? Guess you have a little bit of competition!" He waggled his eyebrows. "And not all of them are women, I see."_

_"Dude, these are creepy strangers who I've never met in my life. This is beyond uncool." Boruto whined._

_Sarada went from being jealous to amused. "Just tell me if any of the guys who hit on you are pretty, Boruto. We might be able to work something out."_

_The entire office froze. Shikamaru and the Seventh's faces were masks of horror. Mitsuki laughed so hard he clutched his stomach and wiped away a stray tear._

  


The phone buzzed again, only mildly muted by its cloth cocoon as it slowly sank deeper into the bin. 

"All right, all right, yes, ALL RIGHT!" Boruto yelled, getting up to go and bathe. He would go to the stupid interview if it freaking killed him. He would do this. He would do this for her.

Even if he had _opinions_ about his future wife wanting to wear That Stupid Hat. It didn't matter. He'd promised to support her, even before they decided marriage was the way. They fought about it frequently; broke up over it constantly. They always got back together a few days later because ultimately, he was always immature and selfish and wrong and he knew it, he knew it already. 

Boruto threw the door to the washroom open with more force than was strictly necessary. He tore off his shirt and underwear and grabbed the shower nozzle in such a rush that he aimed it at himself before letting the water heat up.

"Ah! Damn!" He spluttered when the cold water hit him. As an afterthought, he smashed the side of his fist against the control panel for the bath, telling it to heat to the preset number of degrees, whatever that was. He knew that Mitsuki and Chouchou bickered about the temperature and turned it up or down behind each other's backs; he couldn't be bothered to care. Hot was hot, right?

He grabbed the shampoo from its nearby perch and dumped some in his palm. Distantly he could hear a door opening and closing in the background. _I thought I'd told Mitsuki I could get to the station on my own today,_ he groused inwardly, and worked the soap into a lather with rough, irritated movements, twisting his hair until he almost thought it would rip out of his scalp. He really just needed some time to himself. He wasn't a child. Being roommates was one thing, but having his old genin teammate up in his business twenty four hours a day for the past fourteen days was starting to get on his nerves. Seriously, he could travel for fifteen minutes on foot from his apartment to the LEAF!TV office building with the great big sign over it without being hovered over like he was one of the chubby little snake nin babies he knew his friend wanted so desperately. _If he knocks Chouchou up, will she end up laying eggs?_ He mused. Shinobi bloodline births could be weird sometimes. _Although... maybe she'd be okay with having his kids if she knew she wouldn't have to gain too much weight._

The door opened. 

"Fuck off, I'm showering." He said, eyes closed so the soap wouldn't get in. "And thanks for not trusting me, you bastard." 

No response. 

"Shut the door, it's freaking cold." Boruto snapped, waving the shower nozzle at a spot by the entrance threateningly before turning it back on himself, not bothering to look to see if he hit his target.

A small form collided with his, and suddenly Boruto didn't know what was going on. "Surprise!" A voice whispered in his ear, while a slightly chilly hand dove straight between his legs, and a warm presence of lips, teeth and tongue clashed over his own. 

"Ah!" Boruto returned the kiss, but did a little dance of surprise as well. He took his thumb off of the shower button, put the wand down, and drew the smaller body closer, grinding it against his own. "Hey." 

"Hey." The lips against his curled into a smirk as the space between them became insignificant. The form in front of him was clothed now in a uniform that was completely drenched, but they didn't seem too bothered by it.

 _This right here,_ Boruto thought then. _This gorgeous person is who everybody needs to know._ He laughed out loud, filled with joy at the spontaneity of it all.

Suddenly there was nothing in the world but Boruto, and Sarada, and the fact that they were alone, together, and she was shivering and damp against him and had far too many things on.

Boruto meant to push her away then, tell her he had somewhere to be, but it was too much. It was more than he could handle after such a shitty couple of weeks. Surely, he had a few minutes? "Get these off," he huffed, pulling at the fastener on her qipao-style vest, fashioned in a pattern similar to her mother's red dresses -- _don't think about Aunt Sakura during sex, that's weird_ \-- and pulled at soggy black thigh-high socks and arm warmers. They flew with a snap across the room, one by one, wet and sopping, slapping into the wall before tumbling onto the retractable lid covering the obediently heating bath tub. 

Her glasses came off next, dropped unceremoniously to the ground. Their descent was buffered by his discarded underwear. _That's me, the king of throwing things._ Speaking of which, wasn't there something else he'd just tossed recently onto old clothes, something important that --

Sarada grabbed him by the chin. Her eyes swirled red and black. "You. Me. Now." 

\-- nevermind. Couldn't be important.

He leaned in to kiss her, hands tracing patterns down her waist, up between her thighs. They parted willingly. Boruto inhaled with excitement, knowing by the salty tang in the air how ready she would already be. He slid one hand up the leg of her khaki shorts and over the crotch of what he knew from feel were her favourite pair of lacy white panties; fluttered the tips of his fingers against the tender flesh there until she pressed into him, dripping and swollen, murmuring impatience. She was wetter there than she was anywhere else, and warm -- no, hot. Hot and slick and dripping as she squirmed, completely drenched and begging him to keep going, to just _do it_ , what was taking him so long, and -- 

Sarada pulled back suddenly and she was holding the wand, aiming it at his face. "This is for swearing at me," she intoned seriously, jamming the heel of her hand down on the _on_ switch. "And also for getting me all wet." 

The water was freezing. She'd set it to cold! _Gah, twice in one day!_ Boruto let out a less than manly scream, skittering backwards across the tile, falling, and hitting his head on the side of the tub. "Ow." He coughed and choked, waving his arms in surrender. He reached for his head and his hand came away bloody. He wasn't worried, though. Already he could feel the healing powers he'd inherited from his father kicking in, a convenient thing when your girlfriend was a little violent. "Sarada, I'm sorry, I thought you were --" he cleared his throat, "I thought you were Mitsuki." 

This was not a compelling argument. "You thought _I_ was _Mitsuki?_ " Her eyes narrowed. "You'd better work on learning how to sense chakra signatures if you want to get promoted. And what was with that reaction? It was totally clumsy." She scowled. "You can do better."

People did not feel the same inspiration when looking at Sarada's dour face as they did his, and were even less enthused when they learned she was the child of a pardoned Missing Nin and traitor. For a split second, Boruto could see why.

She was _scary_ sometimes. 

And the people, they wanted their golden boy, not an Uchiha girl with sharingan eyes -- eyes that could force all the benevolent bijuu to bend to her will as opposed to winning them over with the power of love and friendship -- a story every being in Konoha knew, civilian or not, as they now knew it was that very power over their much-loved kyuubi which led to their beloved Lord Seventh's father's death.

It was not an ideal situation. Sentimentality aside, while Boruto _looked_ like the second coming of the Seventh that the crowds thought they wanted, they were thinking with their hearts instead of their brains. The reality was far different. Sarada was a hard worker, with a mind for legal reform and the will to see several necessary infrastructure and policy related projects through to the end. She had already spent many a stint in the Missions Room amending schedules and handing out missions, while Boruto was more of a fight-first-and-ask-questions-later sort of guy. She was the brains; Boruto was the brawn.

He kept this all in mind as his nostrils burned from water inhalation.

And he laughed.

"Okay, you got me there," he admitted, standing up beside the tub and rolling the lid aside, keeping his eyes off of his fuming girlfriend and instead watching with satisfaction as the individual sections snapped together with a sequence of clacks. He sat on the edge of the bath and beckoned with a nod of the head. "He's been hovering around like a mama rock python over her hatchling, I swear, he's been using this media campaign to start 'projecting' his baby crazy stuff on me." 

He used air quotes to show just what he thought of the psycho-babble he'd picked up over the years of having Mitsuki as a friend.

Sarada snorted, smacking him in the rear as he stepped into the water and smiling when he flinched. "I know. It's hilarious to watch." She held his gaze as she unwound the strips of cloth wrapped around her right leg, and then the binding around her chest. "Oh, that's better," she turned her attention to herself then, rubbing some life back into the affected areas. They had to be a little tight in order to be effective. Next, she undid her shorts and kicked them off. Her panties went last. He was right, too -- they were the white ones. 

Boruto looked her over, taking in the new marks covering her body. "I see that they've been going easy on you." He said sarcastically.

Sarada flushed, immediately taking it the wrong way. She was bad at picking up tonal cues sometimes. "In order to become worthy of inheriting the Fifth's techniques, mother has me on a strict schedule." She crossed her arms defensively. "Which is fine, but Tsunade comes to watch these days. And then Anko-sensei and Chouchou started showing up, eating sweets, just to torment me." Her expression easily conveyed her opinion about _that_ kind of behaviour.

"I can't believe Chouchou gets more missions than the two of us put together." He griped petulantly, reaching for her hand. "It's because her family is famous, not because she works hard. I mean, I like her, but I still think Mitsuki could do better."

Sarada smacked him again after he was done pulling her over the edge of the bath. "That's my best friend you're talking about."

"I know," Boruto admitted. "But it's true. Now come here." He lowered Sarada down into his lap, guiding the back of her head to nestle on top of his shoulder and encouraging her to lay down with her back against his front, so he could have access once again to that spot between her legs. "And let the hot water loosen those muscles up."

"Mmm." She was soft and warm against him as they laid in the bath together. As the bathwater enveloped them both, he slid his hands over her slender form, her bellybutton, her diminuitive chest. She was an athletic woman with a small frame -- she didn't even wear a brassiere most of the time, since it was better protection to just bind them. 

Boruto massaged one breast worshipfully, admiring how it fit in his left hand, rubbing a careful thumb over the areolae, watching as they stiffened under his ministrations. In the meantime, his right hand wandered lower. 

"So what have you two really been doing?" she asked, arching her back slightly and leaning into his touch.

"Interview prep." Boruto exhaled sadly, letting his left hand drop. "Boring ass, fake ass, lame, uncool, questions."

"Oho? Give me a taste."

"Uh, you asked for it." Boruto held free hand in front of Sarada's mouth, as if holding a microphone for her to speak into. She licked it. He skirted her inner thigh with the other, a light distraction. "So, tell me Uchiha-san, how do you plan on making Konoha better?" 

Sarada wrinkled her nose. "Well, for a start, perhaps due to the influence of the Sixth Hokage, the lack of oversight for ANBU is an enduring concern. Konoha is the only village where martial law remained the status quo, even in times of peace, and even now complaints are being filed against them for alleged acts of brutality and extort--" She paused as Boruto's non-'microphone' hand wandered, tickling the skin by her bellybutton.

"Bzzt. Too boring. Let's talk about your hair. Who is your stylist? Do you elite shinobi all have some kind of designer you all go to? Where did you get your signature _look_?" 

"Uh... I guess my mom's my tailor, I don't know," Sarada grumbled. "Or Aunt Ino makes our clothes, actually? I have no idea." 

"Fascinating! Now, what else do you plan to do, once you become Hokage?" He caressed the sensitive fold of skin just above her clit lightly, teasing. 

"We-ll, several wounds from the past had festered rather than healed due to the actions of the old administration, and that needs to be --" She gasped as Boruto dipped his index finger lower, collecting the evidence of her arousal, and working it upward, spreading her labia apart and coating the hardened nub at their apex with the slowly diffusing fluid. 

"--addressed," she finished weakly.

Boruto giggled into her hair. It was pretty cool, watching her unravel while still trying to be all serious like this. He wanted to see how long she could keep it up. "Oh, do tell! As the daughter of Haruno Sakura, the Strongest Kunoichi of the Last Great Generation, I bet you have access to all sorts of _juicy_ secrets! So what is it? Naughty kunoichi secretaries? Or forbidden spy romance?"

"Uh... not quite...." Sarada sounded like she wanted to be offended at the fictive interviewer Boruto was impersonating, but she was having an exceedingly difficult time both doing that _and_ rubbing up against his fingers. "The victims of the Foundation--"

"The victims of the Foundation, what?" Boruto grinned evilly, flicking the pads of his fingers over Sarada's clit with increasing speed, occasionally probing lower to collect more come to lubricate the motion when the bathwater rinsed it away. He raised his knee, lifting her a bit above the water level, supporting her with his leg. 

Sarada's hips bucked involuntarily. She was getting pretty turned on. Water sloshed over the lip of the tub and drained out through the slotted collection area built into the floor with a low gurgle. She raised her voice to be heard over it.

"Ah, yes... _now_ , please. I need...." She grabbed his hand then, inserting one and then another of his fingers with surprising ease, moving his wrist in time with the thrusts of her pelvis. Boruto allowed her to guide the movement as she bucked and gasped, rubbing his thumb against her sweet spot now as it was positioned perfectly for the job, and he knew it might start to be unpleasant for her if she stopped. It was a little tiring, but he let her ride his hand for another minute or so, until she collapsed against him with a small splash. "...you jerk," she said fondly. "I hope you weren't doing _that_ with Mitsuki all night last night."

Boruto snickered. "Nah, let's keep this version of interview practice between you and me." 

"It is a problem though," Sarada started again, calm and sated now as she rested against his front, heartlessly ignoring the raging hard-on he was sporting for her, which she couldn't possibly fail to notice, not with it pressing so insistently up against her as she sat on him. "Those experiments, and in many cases their children, are starting to step forward and demand restitution."

"Restitution?" Boruto mimicked again, raising his voice back up to his pretend interviewer's pitch. "That's such a silly-sounding word! Say it with me, _restitution!"_ Boruto then made his voice lower, imitating a second personality. "Restitution! Hah! That _is_ a funny word. But you know what else is funny? Baby panda videos! Up next, the world's cutest zoo animals! What are they up to this week? Stay tuned to find out after these messages!" 

"AUGH!" Sarada closed her eyes, and huffed. She thumped a hand against Boruto's solar plexus; a small wave splashed against the wall as he coughed. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she scrunched her brow together in consternation. "They cannot be that bad." 

"They are," Boruto croaked. _That was a little too hard,_ he thought to himself. Thank goodness for that healing ability. "I figured I was dumb, but these people make me sound smart, don'cha know." 

"It's moronic," Sarada huffed, turning around to face him. "There are serious issues that I want to talk about. For instance, did you know that members of the public have been petitioning for an end to martial law and the reinstatement of a proper police force, like the one that my clan used to run, for over thirty years? And this is not a small number of people, I am talking like, almost half of the population! And I mean, ANBU is good at what it does, don't get me wrong --" she cast him a sympathetic look, "--but you know what they say? Military forces are meant to protect the people from _outside threats_. Put the military in charge of watching the people, and you end up with a situation where the military protects the country _from its own people._ And that's what's happened, isn't it? It happened to my own family. I had all of these aunts and uncles and cousins that I'll never meet... my own grandparents.... And it will happen again!"

She was scary when she was angry, but it was gorgeous, too. It was killing his erection, though, all this depressing talk. He cupped her face. "I know, babe." He leaned in to kiss her again.

Sarada pulled away, aborting the kiss. She was on a roll. "And civilians now outnumber shinobi in the village by about three to one, but if they enter a common law partnership or a marriage with someone in a shinobi clan and the shinobi is injured or killed in the line of duty, the civilian can be denied hospital visitation rights or benefits! _In what world is that okay?"_

Boruto nodded. It was an argument he'd heard before. Many times before. "It's not. I know, babe." He repeated, and tried pulling the ranting Uchiha back into his slippery embrace.

Sarada allowed it, but then tensed in his arms. She was on a roll. "What's worse, there are cases where a clan has taken a civilian's child away and denied access, because their other parent was permanently hospitalized or deceased, and there was a chance of a bloodline limit! In this century!"

Boruto rubbed a hand down her back. The woman he loved cared so much about things, while it just made him tired to think about it. And the public all thought he was the sympathetic one; it was ironic, really. "I know, babe." He spun her about so she was facing away from him again and began kneading the cartilage between her shoulder blades and spine, working out the knots. "You're so tense, now. I feel bad. Come on, we were having fun, don'cha know?" 

"I was tense before," Sarada snapped. And hummed when he hit a particularly sore spot. "Also, don't stop." 

Boruto didn't. 

"And my father's clan...." Sarada continued, sleepily now. "People are starting to come forward and ask for an explanation now. They weren't entirely incestuous, they had people outside the compound! And now that the fear of ROOT isn't hanging over them, members of other clans who had married into or had business connections with the Uchiha are asking for a TRC."

"A what?"

"Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Everyone shows up from either side and tells stories about the massacre, and then everyone has to forgive everyone else in order to move forward. The Fifth Mizukage had one after the end of Yagura's reign."

"Sounds messy."

"Hn. Don't even get me started on the gays." 

"Oh, man. I can't wait until we slip that one by the old guard." Boruto grinned and nipped at her neck. "No more closeted shinobi for our generation." At least he understood that issue pretty well.

"Nope. We'll be married and miserable soon, why not everyone?" Sarada quipped, but her eyes were serious again. 

"Pfft. Yeah. Like our dads?"

"Yeah. Like our dads." 

They considered each other for a moment, neither of them saying what they were really thinking. They didn't need to. Entwining their fingers and looking, considering. "Let's get out. Our skin is getting all pruney, don'cha know?" 

"Okay."

* * *

Mitsuki paced.

With the public's reactions in mind, the three of them had decided on a strategy where Boruto would start making appearances as much as possible for now, and then when he had enough steam going, they would start working Sarada in as part of a package deal. Her status as Hokage Candidate would then be officially announced at the six month mark.

Naruto agreed to support their ambition with a look of relief; he was getting on in years and exhaustion was setting in. The saviour of the shinobi world was burnt out and it was starting to show. It wasn't entirely his fault; Konohamaru was supposed to have taken the reins by now. But being Hokage also meant learning to be a realist, and the jōnin sensei had disappeared on a mission over a year ago. Search parties had turned up empty handed, and eventually, Konohamaru had been declared missing in action. So while it was somewhat obvious that the Seventh was a little disappointed in his son for not wanting to follow in his old man's footsteps, the thought of ending the stigma against the Uchiha and making _Sasuke's daughter_ the Eighth paired with the promise of retirement was probably the best possible consolation anyone could have offered. Naruto was not immune to the encroachment of time, and also would do anything for his friend.

The Seventh's advisor, Shikamaru, looked pained by the prospect of the work the changeover presented, but also slightly relieved by the wisdom of the choice. "Announce the engagement as soon as possible," he'd said, but only after frightening them all by sitting silently for ten minutes, his fingers steepled in a tight upside-down pyramid. "Your idea is spot on. We'll wean the public off of Boruto and onto Sarada by association. Sell them as a duo. Get the hype going if you can, Mitsuki-kun, and I'll see about hiring someone permanently to go about winning their approval."

The hospital grudgingly gave Mitsuki next month off as the Hokage's office assigned him to Boruto as a personal assistant, bodyguard, and "manager", to work on getting things rolling. The idea being that once the Boruto-Sarada frenzy was well established, they could hand matters over to a professional public relations staffer and Mitsuki could return to his regular life, examining specimens cultivated in agar dishes while slowly chipping away at his thesis on the study of tenketsu nodes and shinobi village epidemiology.

It was working out well most days. Except days like today, when Boruto stopped answering his texts, leaving him stranded in front of a manically smiling pair of newscasters and an agitated director who was counting down the minutes.

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure where he is. I'll try calling Boruto again --"

"There's no time." The female host of the show turned her calculating gaze on him, pink-lacquered fingernails tapping at the earpiece hidden underneath her mop of artificially lightened hair. He licked his lips unconsciously. Under the cover of her floral perfume, he could smell the lightening shampoo and whitening skin cream. She was an individual liberally coated in hydroquinine and bleach. _Carcinogens. The price of 'beauty'._

Granted, his parent had gone through quite a bit of trouble to grow an entire host of replacement bodies for every possible eventuality, so obviously looks meant a lot to people. Aunt Karin even said that out of all of them, there was only one that was allowed to eat ice cream, but that might have just been a joke. Mitsuki supposed, however, being young and healthy, he didn't have much of a right to judge.

The newscaster's male counterpart, a man whose facial scarring -- visible under the layer of airbrushing that glistened in the limelight -- bespoke a number of cosmetic procedures, reminded him a little of someone he knew in Hidden Sound. _Double eyelids, a popular choice these days. I bet he doesn't have any weapons transplants, however._ He was beautiful in a way that was neither functional nor deadly, the two bywords of Sound surgery. The symmetry of his face was practically cartoon-like, and his scent was... cologne and yeast? Mitsuki frowned. He'd actually have to get closer to the man in order to be able to tell -- taste his skin, even -- but there was something seriously wrong with this guy. _Perhaps one of his silicone transplants have burst?_ He glanced down at the fellow's pectoral muscles. Was one of them slipping? _If there was a leak and he had any mold in there, that would do it. There is_ Candida _of some variety over there._ He wondered if he should say something. People were always telling him he voiced inappropriate thoughts he should keep to himself. _Maybe I am the wrong choice for Sarada and Boruto's PR nanny after all._ Oh well. He was just the wrangler; it didn't matter as long as he wasn't the one talking, right?

"Corporate just agreed. You're doing the interview in their place." Stage hands appeared with an element of surprise at least worthy of chūnin, pressing him into a chair and powdering his face with some kind of mineral, which made him cough.

"I'm -- what?" he wheezed incredulously. He did not have a script for this. He was bad at talking to others without a script.

The director ignored him. "And we're live in three, two --"

"GOOD MORNING Konoha, you are watching LEAF!TV. Ritsuko Kyousaki here, along with my co-host Tsu Shuju --"

"Yo!" The pretty -- but possibly ailing -- man waved at the camera. This was apparently their usual routine, as Ritsuko paused effortlessly when he opened his mouth to interrupt.

"--and I hope you're having something healthy for breakfast because next week marks the start of THE VICTORY FESTIVAL!"

"WOO!" cried Shuju, who Mitsuki was now certain was the victim of a poorly-performed medical procedure. _It's getting more pungent the longer I sit here._

"--And we don't know about you, but if you're anything like us here at the station, then most of us are going to be eating nothing but Fox Pastries, Victory Eggs and Ramen with extra naruto for a week! Now here we have a close friend of our two local heroes, Uzumaki Boruto and Uchiha Sarada, to give us his take on their upcoming nuptials! Sooo... you're like, a scientist, right? And I heard your parent is one of the Sannin?"

The television personalities both grinned at him, all teeth. _Even more bleach,_ Mitsuki thought, slightly in shock from the direction of the woman's questioning. _In a few years, if certain shinobi evolve to have a resistance to body modification, would that be considered a bloodline limit?_ He thought in a panic, not sure what he was doing, and apparently analyzing the people around him as a crutch while he scrambled to get a handle on the situation. "Uhm," he vocalized pathetically.

Ritsuko began talking again, filling the empty space between them with her words. "So tell us, do you have any giant summoning animals we should know about? Or have you raised any famous people from the dead recently? Or maybe you're working on curing some really tough diseases? Or--"

"--or do you have a dirty story on its way to the presses?" Her co-host interrupted, eyes sparkling.

Wow. These two did their homework. They seemed to know more than most high-ranking security officials at the Tower, which was impressive. Maybe they'd planned on being proper journalists before settling for this job? Or maybe they liked working here since print was on its way out? Mitsuki scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly. "Oh, close but not quite. I mostly just test the effectiveness of antimicrobial agents against significant bacterial isolates." He left the hidden questions about his parentage alone, hoping people would read more into his answer than he was willing to say.

He wasn't ashamed of his parent, but he knew better than to link the get-Sarada-elected-as-Hokage mission to his family's dark past.

Ritsuko waved her "Victory Flag" at him -- a square of paper bearing the word "Shinobi" on a white background bordered in red triangles, glued to what looked like a recycled popsicle stick. "Hm... so you haven't been taking on scary political missions with Boruto and Sarada recently? I thought you three were the Third Generation of the Sannin?"

"For those of you who don't know," Shuju interjected (and Mitsuki could only imagine there were infographics being projected onto the viewers' screens at home), "...the first generation of the Sannin were the Senju Tsunade, Jiraiya the Toad Sage, and Orochimaru. They gained Konoha some considerable victories and received their nickname in the Second Shinobi War."

"Ooh, that last one looks scary!" squeaked Ritsuko. The exclamation sounded rehearsed.

"I dunno, some girls like 'em that way," Shuju waggled his eyebrows. "The ones we called second generation of the Sannin were Haruno Sakura, Uzumaki Naruto, and Uchiha Sasuke, the heroes who defeated Uchiha Madara and Uchiha Obito in the Fourth Shinobi War, which for those of you at home who have just immigrated here, is what we celebrate on Victory Day."

"And that brings us to you three!" Ritsuko summed up. "Uchiha Sarada, Uzumaki Boruto, and that's you, Mitsuki-kun!" She gestured at the screen. "Well, you can't see it, but trust me, the picture is adorable."

"Ah... okay, I'll... trust you." Mitsuki agreed, entirely blindsighted. "What was the question again?"

"Oh! Missions! Done anything cool lately?"

"Lately? Ah, no. I've been at the hospital, mostly." Ever since Konahamaru-sensei disappeared, it had made the most sense for him to start apprenticing there. But since the biochem lab was understaffed and many of the medic nin didn't like using the new electronic equipment, he actually spent the majority of his shifts churning through the backlog of specimens that needed tests run on them. He knew far more about who did and did not have STIs in this city than he'd ever wanted to know.

"But you've been keeping up with your shinobi training, right? Hitting the training grounds every day?"

Mitsuki felt the eyes of the public on him, scrutinizing his life choices. "Ha ha, maybe once per week? I've been getting pretty out of shape, actually." Maybe it wasn't the right thing to say, but it was true. He could feel himself starting to blush.

"Wow, so you're practically one of us now! But you're busy curing diseases, right?"

"Well, sort of. It's my job to see if the cures that have worked up until now have stopped working."

Ritsuko looked at him blankly. "And have they?"

None of this was on the script. He felt like a complete failure. They had barely even spoken about Boruto and Sarada. He was sure that Shikamaru was watching right now, muttering _troublesome_ under his breath. "Not to alarm you or anything, but... yes? More and more every day? Which is why if you ask your family doctor, they will generally recommend not using antibacterial soap?"

"You sound unsure. And why is this a ninja job? It sounds like this should be a civilian job." There was a bit of threat laced in that comment, as if to say here he was, the prodigy child of a known genius, both failing to do something exciting _and_ taking away an "ordinary" job from a potentially qualified and deserving regular person.

"I'm... pretty sure. And sometimes there are chakra effects to some bacteria, so there are shinobi aspects to a few of the things my department does," he concluded lamely. It was a half-truth. The reality was that a lot of the time, he helped the regular lab technicians and there was nothing specifically 'ninja-like' about his job. Missions were pretty sparse in this time of peace. Anything below a "B" rank went to the genin and chūnin who were working their way up to jōnin and needed the hours, B and A ranks went to the jōnin (or ANBU if things looked dodgy), and there hadn't been an "S" rank since Konohamaru.

No matter what, he wouldn't talk about what happened to Konohamaru. Using his ...disappearance.... to sell Sarada's candidacy was cheap, they all agreed.

"So should we all panic? Does this mean that I should stop vaccinating my kids?"

Mitsuki bit the inside of his cheek. He would not scream. _You've bred?!_ he thought sadly, avoiding looking at the man's scars again. He reminded himself that his team needed him, and forced a smile. "You really should have a conversation with your family doctor about that," he answered quickly. _And also about your implants._ "I'm just a medical lab technician after all." He chuckled. "Maybe we could talk about Sarada's dress? She received her six traditional wedding gifts from the groom's family this week, and her iro-uchikake was among them."

"Ooh, her mother in law is a Hyuuga, right? For those civilian viewers at home who do not know much about the Hyuuga, they are an elite and ancient ninja family. They are super-super-serious and traditional, so of course I bet they expect a Shinto wedding much like we saw when their oldest daughter wed the Seventh Hokage, am I right?"

"That would be correct. There will be Miko priestesses, Shinto priests, old fashioned gagaku music, and a feast of one hundred dishes at the reception. Anyone who's anyone will be invited." He recited, glad now that he'd stayed up all night coaching Boruto through the script.

"Wow, sounds fancy," the female newscaster gushed. "A wedding is all about the bride, after all, am I right? Coming up next, we'll be taking a look at the latest cute kitten videos, and a dangerous fad taking over colleges in the Fire Capital: blimp planking. What is it? Stay tuned to find out!"

Mitsuki said his goodbyes and left as quickly as possible. All of those years training in ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu... and he was starting to think the Academy needed to start covering television and internet presences instead.

 _None of my knowledge was applicable just now,_ he thought sourly. _What do I know about civilian television programs and fashion trends? And why should the future leader of a Hidden Village and their husband need to know or care? The Hokage is no longer a warchief at all, if this is any indication._ The worst part was, as much as he disagreed with that woman's questions, something about them sat uneasily with him.

Mitsuki's thoughts were dark as he made his way back to the apartment. _I never should have trusted Boruto to show up on his own._ He sidestepped a jogger and his dogs, circumvented an _Ame Oyster Burger_ food cart, and avoided a woman reprimanding their child for paying more attention to their handheld video game than cars while crossing a relatively busy street.

An airship passed overhead loudly, an advertisement for ninja tools splashed across its structural shell. 

He was mortified and annoyed, but everywhere else, life went on as usual. It should have made him feel better, but instead he felt small. Not for the first time, he began to question his former teammates' goals. But even worse, he was also starting to question his own -- and that was new for him.

Mitsuki was the child of a Sannin, but what had he really accomplished so far, besides going on a few missions with his friends and pretty much retiring from the shinobi world to become a career chūnin? _Most of the time, it's like I'm a housewife waiting for Chouchou to come home._ Ino-Shika-Cho were one of those special teams that still received at least half a dozen missions per year. They were lent out on security details or sent to track civilian criminals at the Daimyo's request. _If she'd agree to move in with me, that is, that's how it would be._

There was a problem with that idea, of course.

He remained resolutely miserable all of the way back to the place he shared with Boruto. Upon arriving, Mitsuki kicked his shoes off and sighed, flopping down on the sofa with a sad noise of defeat. He hugged his knees and tucked his feet between the cushions, blowing on his hands to get them warm. Even in moderate weather like this, his poor circulation meant it took him a moment to warm up after arriving indoors. He turned the television on, and curled up until his friends emerged from the washroom. 

He didn't pull his punches when he felt their heat signatures emerge. He kept his eyes on the muted commercial in front of him and spoke bitterly. "Boruto, your ass is grass."

Sarada tensed behind Mitsuki. Her arm moved, probably to clutch a towel. "You two work this out, I'll get supper."

"Cool," Boruto said.

"Cool," Mitsuki agreed.

Sarada harrumphed and entered Boruto's room, slamming the door shut.

Mitsuki turned to his best friend now, and glared. "You missed the interview," he intoned flatly. He would not immediately forgive him, he told himself. That wouldn't be helping. This was discipline.

Boruto swore. "Sorry bro, I lost track of time. I feel shitty about it." He sat down on the couch beside Mitsuki. The towel threatened to flap open a bit, but it wasn't anything Mitsuki hadn't seen before. All genin teams had stories about seeing each other naked for the first time. It was practically a rite of passage. "What did they do? Did it go okay?"

 _After I stayed up all night coaching you... you forgot?_ Mitsuki grunted. But he could see the bags under Boruto's eyes, and realized that his friend was not having a good time either. "It was...." He chuckled. "Fairly traumatizing. They almost asked me about Orochimaru. Nearly called me out as their son on the air."

Boruto folded his hands together and bowed his head. His expression was the very picture of contrition. "Shit, man. I am so sorry."

"Yeah... I shouldn't get in front of the cameras again." Mitsuki smiled in a rueful way that did not reach his eyes. "There's a chance it would do more harm to the campaign than good. If Shikamaru doesn't skin me alive, I'll be very surprised indeed."

"Well... at least it comes off on its own every thirty days anyway?"

Mitsuki stuck his tongue out at him. "I'll be shedding early this month with all the stress you're putting me through."

"All right, I said I was sorry! And on the happier side of things, Sarada and I made up just now, and I, uhh, you know how it is when we make up." The blond grinned innocently.

Mitsuki glanced at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "You were fighting?" He'd honestly lost track this week. Usually he knew what each of them was angry about when it came to the other, but not today, it seemed.

"Yeah...."

Mitsuki shook his head. Boruto's best weapon wasn't his giant rasengan, or even his ability to produce multiple shadow clones, or the tailed beast chakra he was apparently given upon birth. It was that face. Why was he always such a sucker for that face? When he did that, he felt like he could forgive the inconsiderate child of the Seventh for anything. He could probably stomp into his room one day and announce that he'd just slaughtered a pack of ANBU from an allied country with a wooden spoon and Mitsuki's first compulsion would most likely be to leap to helping him hide the bodies. "I understand that you love her and all, but this is for her in the end, remember? Would it have killed you to be like, 'Hey babe, I've got an interview, see you in a few hours?' She would have understood. The public want to see your handsome face, not my scary one. What's more, they need to get to the point where they see her face and connect it with yours." He lowered his voice. "You know that is the only way her bid to succeed your dad is going to work. Otherwise, they're going to insist on you."

"I know, I know, it's just--" 

Sarada appeared behind them, keys jangling. "You girls kiss and make up and I'll be back in a few."

"Okay sweetie, thank you." Boruto answered automatically.

"No weird textures please. You know what I like." Mitsuki supplied. He trusted she would just get him something she'd seen him eat before. Sarada was reliable like that.

"Got it! Squid stew for everyone!" Sarada cackled, stomping out of the apartment without looking at either of them. It was hard to tell what she'd overheard and whether or not she was mad.

"Augh." Boruto put his hands in his face. "It's the sex, okay? It's like an addiction. It had been a couple of weeks, right? Ever since this all started. And I was... you know... and I was in the shower, and suddenly she was there, and she was like, 'hey, idiot, surprise,' and I was gonna be like, 'no, I'm busy,' but then we were both all wet and... I lost control of myself, man. It won't happen again. And it won't be forever. It's just to get her image out there, don'cha know?"

"I do know." Mitsuki appeased. "But I'm still not impressed. And she won't be either, when she finds out." 

"Does she need to?" Boruto winced at the look he received in return. "Okay, fine. But I... I don't even want to be doing this shit. Every minute I'm spending on this media stuff," he waved a hand at his television, which was currently trying to sell the _Bansenshukai_ and collected _Analects_ on CD to... elderly viewers. "I'm not training for entry into ANBU, and we'll be old enough to qualify in a year." 

Mitsuki's stomach turned at the assumption that he'd be following Boruto to the ANBU qualification exams when they both turned nineteen. He knew Boruto wanted -- no, _needed_ to get into ANBU, and he used to think he wanted to do so as well. But his lab work was very interesting. And others could say what they would about Orochimaru's mental deterioration during the war -- Mitsuki secretly held that it was the work he'd be assigned to in ANBU that had ultimately driven his parent insane. 

He liked his sanity where it was, thank you very much.

The rebellious thought brought him back unexpectedly to his embarrassing impromptu interrogation under Ritsuko and Shuji, the horrifically chipper duo from LEAF!TV. First impressions aside, maybe they were smarter than Mitsuki had given them credit for. Were they right to question his resolve? Did he secretly yearn for a civilian life, or something close to one? Or maybe he just preferred being a regular scientist instead of a mad one.

"Yeah... ANBU. See, about that --"

"Stick with us, won't ya?" Boruto steamrolled on, not really listening. "We need your support. It's better if it's you; then we don't have to act when the cameras are off. Think of it as just another mission, okay? Team Konohamaru, back together again."

_But I can't be here to cover you for the rest of my life,_ Mitsuki thought sourly. _And what happens when you're finally called out for irresponsible behaviour like this? I'm working hard for both of you, but can you go through with doing this for Sarada after all? Or, even worse... are you subconsciously undermining all of this?_ But what he said was, "All right. Just leave it to me."

He never had been able to stand it when the two of them left him behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the handful of readers who've left bookmarks and kudos so far, my apologies for the wait! There was a saying in one of the creative writing classes I took a few years ago, that writing was in the art of _re-writing_ and I've certainly been editing this over and over for at least the last eight days. It's funny, because when I decided to start posting this, I told myself that I would just write a chapter every day in order to just get something up and _out there_ instead of writing everything in my head and never actually getting it all down, but... it's actually harder than it sounds. For me, anyway.
> 
> For instance (if you guys want to know) this chapter originally was entirely from Mitsuki's point of view, and contained a _lot_ of narrative summary. I took great pains to edit it all for style and word choice and to make it appropriately scientific and snakey, only to realize that it was still _dull as balls_ because who wants to be subjected to my boring world-building for more than a couple of paragraphs? _Show, don't tell_ is another catchphrase you hear in writing class a lot, and I realized that I wasn't doing that. Also, I hadn't really gotten into _why_ Mitsuki wanted Sarada instead of Boruto to be Hokage now, contrary to how he talks in the _Road to B_ special chapter or _Boruto: The Movie_ , or established what Boruto and Sarada's goals were, either. _What does Character A, B, or C want? Do any of the things these characters want create conflict between them?_ This was the sort of thinking I had to do in order to establish how they would actually interact with one another and what their current idea of "normal" (or in Mitsuki's case, "the world of the familiar") actually is. 
> 
> We still aren't where I indicate the story is going to go in the summary, either. The summary is really hinting at a few individual crises (that's _crises_ , plural) that will announce the shift from the first to second act, where Mitsuki _leaves_ the world of the familiar (or as he sees it, the present) and enters the world of the unfamiliar (the past), as it were. If I can just bleeding _get_ the story there. -_-;


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